


Redux

by yumimum



Series: I Take The Words 'Verse [5]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumimum/pseuds/yumimum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These humans were such indomitable little creatures; but he of all people knew that time couldn’t heal all wounds—especially those <i>wrought</i> by Time itself.<br/>Part of the I Take The Words 'verse, and set post-Requiem. Big hugs to Develish1 for the beta job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Never let it be said the 21st century didn’t know how to party, the Doctor decided, shaking the last of the confetti from his new, and quite frankly _magnificent_ hair. Already, a week had passed since his regeneration—a week in which the drama of Christmas Day seemed all but forgotten in lieu of the latest estate gossip—and if braving a world of inebriated apes meant the return of that radiant smile to Rose Tyler’s face, then so be it. That’s what he’d do.

Not that _he’d_ had much chance to appreciate said smile, mind you. His companion’s mother had taken to her role of hostess with all the authority of the Brigadier himself. Drinks were poured, banners were hung, and before he knew it the Doctor had been pinched, groped, and accosted more times than in his last seven bodies combined. 

Clearly middle-aged women and lime-green cocktails were a volatile combination, and after the third chilling rendition of _Like a Virgin_ the Doctor had fled to the highest rooftop, fully determined to rid his ears—and quite possibly his _memories_ , of that which shall not be named. Rassilon, even _Jack_ had more self-restraint than the vultures currently circling that living room. 

Speaking of which… 

“You know, Doc,” came a familiar lazy drawl, “I’m all for equal opportunity, but I swear these Earth girls have more arms than a Venusian.” 

The Time Lord smirked. “You’ve met Shireen then?” 

“Ah yes,” Jack sighed, taking a seat on the stone wall beside him. “The lovely Shireen. Nice girl. Interesting piercings.” 

“Tell that to Prince Albert,” the Doctor replied, one eyebrow arched in wry amusement. “Skin-tight trousers, fondness for dressing rings—wife more fearsome than an Ogron mercenary…”

“Sounds like fun.” 

“Sounds like a _beheading_.” A series of catcalls hailed from the flats across the way, and the Doctor swallowed hard, seeking to quell the unease in his stomach. “The TARDIS completed her medi-scans,” he ventured at last. “You’re fit as a fiddle—though _why_ a fiddle would need to be fit is beyond me. Still, your blood results are flawless.” 

“ _Impossible._ ” 

“Oi!” the Time Lord exclaimed, rocking back on his heels. “Genius, here. Since when do I ever make mistakes?” Frowning, he tugged on his ear. “Never mind. The third moon of Delta Magna probably wasn’t the best spot for a picnic.” 

“No kidding…”

“But at least the locals were friendly.” 

“—and _hungry._ ” 

“Same difference.” The Doctor paused. “Where was I?” 

“Listing my perfections,” Jack replied, earning an obligatory eye roll. “Flattery will get you everywhere, you know.” 

“Always the optimist, eh, Captain?” 

“Perhaps,” he said, shucking his coat, “but that sword damn near took my arm off, so which part of this seems normal to you?” 

Beyond his control, the Doctor’s gaze fell to his companion’s bicep. “Ah,” he said, withdrawing the sonic and scanning the now unblemished skin. “Yes, well… augmented cell migration. Accelerated regrowth. That's alright—better than alright really. Love a challenge, me, and I’m still brimming with theories. Well….” He sucked in a breath. “…not brimming exactly, but I have a few—well, one… _maybe_ … and, _no_ ,” he groaned as Jack’s eyes lit up with intent, “it’s _not_ bunnies. Seriously. What is it with you lot and fictitious vampires?” 

The other man shrugged. “Must be the leather.” 

“So I’ve heard.” And if that was bitterness in the Doctor’s voice, he certainly refused to acknowledge it. “Tell me, Captain, what do you know about fixed points?” 

“Besides the obvious?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then not much,” Jack said, as an icy wind buffeted the exposed rooftop. “The Time Agency were never that big on details. Change without interference; that was their motto. Untraceable, undetectable—”

“—unaccountable?” 

“Occasionally,” he replied, his tone belying his grin. “But accidents happen with any job, right?”  
Weary, the Doctor dragged a palm over his face. “Time travel is not a _job,_ Captain, it’s a _privilege._ Some events are set in stone, and if anyone—Time Lords included—were to interfere with their progression—”  
“—the whole of reality could fall apart,” Jack droned. “I know. Friend of mine almost scuppered the Battle of Waterloo, and all because of a jacket. Still, throw off your worries when you throw off your clothes, eh, Doc? At least Napoleon got a good quote out of it.” 

“Touché.” An amiable silence settled between them, and the Doctor’s vision turned skyward as he braced himself for the task ahead. “Here and now, you’re existence is set,” he explained gently, “but the time lines surrounding you are not. They’re in a constant state of flux. Usually I’d expect some degree of flexibility, but this…” Words failed him. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Jack. You really are one of a kind.” 

The Captain scoffed. “Nothing new there then.” 

“Apparently not,” the Doctor replied, already planning his next course of action. “The perpetual healing is affecting you on a temporal scale, but if I can isolate the problem genetically—maybe fiddle with the scanners, sweet-talk the TARDIS herself—” 

“Say no more.” 

“—then it’s possible I can fix it,” he continued, squaring his shoulders. “Clearly something else is at work here—something beyond the realm of regular testing alone. Lucky for us there’s a machine aboard the TARDIS—the Chameleon Arch—capable of rewriting a person from the ground up.” 

“Like rebooting a computer?” 

“ _Exactly_ like rebooting a computer,” the Doctor said, snapping his fingers. “But I won’t lie to you, Jack, This isn’t an overnight solution. It’ll take time and a lot of planning to pull this off. There are side effects we’ll need to avoid—memory loss, being the worst of them. Still, if we can scavenge the right technology—reconfigure a few parts—”

“—break a few rules?” 

“Naturally,” the Time Lord agreed, pocketing the screwdriver. “But eventually— _hopefully_ —hey presto! Back to normal. Well…” He smirked. “…as _normal_ as you’ve ever been, I suppose.” 

“Does Rose know?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Good,” Jack replied, slipping into his jacket. “Keep it that way—at least ‘til we’ve learned some more. Poor kid’s feeling guilty enough as it is.” 

“She said that?” 

“Not in so many words.” 

“Then what—” Beneath them, a barrage of fireworks thundered through the courtyard, and the Doctor muttered some choice expletives at the rowdy idiots incapable of waiting for twelve ‘o clock. “I thought she didn’t remember?” 

“She doesn’t," Jack replied gravely. “And that's the problem. You know how Rose is.” 

“Exceptional." 

“If by that you mean stubborn—"

“I'm serious,” the Doctor said, overcome by his vivid memories of that momentous night. “The TARDIS is adamant there’s nothing wrong, but I felt it, Jack. She was there—right there in front of me and—”

The sound of hurried footsteps stopped him in his tracks, and the Time Lord grimaced as two drunken revellers fell through the fire escape door—their clothes in various states of disarray as they stumbled their way towards the nearest vertical surface. 

“Fantastic,” he sighed, clearly channelling his former self. Honestly, there were some things he just _didn’t_ need to know about Earth mating rituals. “I think that’s our cue to leave, don’t you, Captain?” 

“Preaching to the choir, here, Doc,” the other man replied, slapping him on the shoulder. “Unless you wanna catch some performance art?" 

A stony glare was his only response. 

“What? We could critique their performance. Lend him a helping—" 

“ _Jack_ …”

“Fine,” he surrendered, albeit grudgingly as the first bells of Westminster chimed the countdown to midnight. “I’ve never gone much for horror flicks anyway. Real life is scary enough.” 

“Tell me about it.” The Time Lord’s air left no room for debate, and turning on his heel he gestured towards the exit. “Shall we?” 

“After you,” the Captain replied with a grand sweep of his arm. “Come on, Doc. I know where there's a banana daiquiri with your name on it. I’d offer you something stronger but the missus drew the line at hyper-vodkas.” A second volley of explosions resounded overhead, and Jack paused mid-step, a mischievous glint in his eye as he turned to face him. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance of a New Year's kiss?" 

"You never give up, do you?" 

And laughing, his companion simply winked as they proceeded towards the stairwell. “Wouldn't be me if I did, Doc. Wouldn’t be me if I did…”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? You didn't think I'd continue this series without everyone's favourite Space Horndog, did you?


	2. Chapter One

“Have you got everything?”

Rose smiled into the crushing embrace. “I've got _everything_ ,” she replied for the third time that day. “Stop worrying. Moment I run out of clothes I’ll be back for a cuppa. I _promise._ ” 

It was nearly lunchtime, and the five of them had gathered in the courtyard—her mother, a little teary eyed and a lot worse for wear—and Mickey, his arms folded and sullen beside her. 

“Oh, ‘ark at you,” Jackie muttered, sneaking a peek at the blue box in the shadows. “What’s the matter? Don’t you have a washing machine inside that thing?” 

“Not one that _works_.” 

“I heard that!” the Doctor said, popping his head around the doorframe, “And I’ve told you before, Rose Tyler, there isn’t a single household appliance that couldn’t stand to be a little more sonic. Just think of all those wasted opportunities. The colours, the shrinkage—the lost socks! I mean seriously, why would you want to be doing laundry when you could be doing—uh….” 

“ _Yes?_ ” 

The Doctor flinched at his unwitting Mother-in-law’s expectant glare. 

“Stuff,” he finished lamely. 

Jackie’s foot tapped impatiently against the tarmac. “What sort of _stuff?_ ” 

“Well, I don’t know, do I?” the Doctor cried in exasperation. “Eating chips. Painting your nails. Whatever it is you lot do for fun.” 

His companion merely smirked. “You rewired the microwave again, didn’t you?” 

And feeling brave, Jack stepped into the breach. “Thanks again for the highlights, Jackie,” he said, sweeping the eldest Tyler into a hug. “Blondes really _do_ have more fun. Things don’t work out with that Howard you give me a call, you hear?” 

“Ah, be off with you,” Jackie replied as the Captain planted a kiss on her lips. “I’m old enough to be your mother.” 

“Well you don’t look a day over twenty-five.” 

Mickey groaned in the background, and Rose was torn between amusement and guilt as a rakish grin crossed Jack’s face, and her mother sighed in resignation. 

“Be careful.” 

“I will,” she replied. “I love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

“Oh, and mum, you got to call Mo about that—” 

“Oh, never mind Mo,” Jackie said dismissively, “you just take care of yourself. You’re exhausted, sweetheart. Looking after that daft old alien—gallivanting about doing Lord knows what. It’s the stress, that’s what it is. You’ll be giving yourself an ulcer like old Mrs Norris down the—”

“Watch it!” Startled, both women turned to see the Doctor backing out of the TARDIS doors, a fire extinguisher in one hand, some slightly charred components in the other. “Well, that’s the last time I try to recalibrate the Tesseractulator in Earth’s gravity field, I tell you,” he said, dropping the smouldering items into a nearby wheelie bin as he sauntered towards them. “So what d’ya say, Mr Mickey? Fancy a quick jaunt to the Roxborne Peninsula? Cloud surfing in the Dagmar Cluster?” 

“I think I’ll pass,” the other man replied as the Time Lord gathered Rose’s bags. “Not sure I can handle the excitement.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jack drawled, reaching out to shake his hand. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, that’s what I always say.” 

“I noticed.” Rolling his eyes, Mickey dropped a kiss to Rose’s cheek. “Love you,” he said, clearly unfazed by the Doctor’s non-too-subtle hovering, and with one final set of goodbyes the trio marched back to the TARDIS, their relief palpable as Jack pulled the doors shut behind them. 

There were certain benefits to travelling within a sentient Time Ship—alien adventures and the occasional death threat notwithstanding—but there was nothing like the thrill of the unknown to get the blood pumping, and Rose would be the first to admit her natural propensity for life in linear motion had long since lost its appeal. 

“So, where are we going?” 

“Further than we've ever gone before,” the Doctor replied, smiling at the familiar sound of dematerialisation that echoed throughout the console room. “Bit of a breather, I think. Sun, sand, sea…”

“Sounds perfect.” 

“Sounds _boring_.” 

Rose laughed. “Come on, Jack. Weren’t you the one moaning about fake tan just the other day? That poor woman in _Boots_ didn’t know where to look.” 

“That _poor woman,_ ” Jack replied shrewdly, “looked like a sunburnt Blathereen. I mean really. Orange with that hair colour? Who was she trying to kid?” 

“As if that's ever stopped you,” came a chuckle from across the room. 

“You reading my mind, Doc?” 

“What's to read?” the Time Lord replied, parking them safely inside the Vortex. “Yours is a one way ticket, Captain—straight to the gutter.” A flurry of lights lit up the instrument panel, and the Doctor frowned as he applied the handbrake. “Still, it’s not like you to turn down a bit of skin. Don’t tell me Jackie’s frightened you off?” 

“Oi!” Rose narrowed her eyes at the cackling Time Lord. “I saw you bolt when she pulled out that stethoscope.” 

“ _That_ was not fear,” the Doctor said, slinging his coat over the nearest coral strut. “That, my dear Rose, was _self preservation._ Your mother’s been watching me like a Dogon all week.” 

“Maybe she fancies you?” Jack suggested, only to balk at the duel looks of disgust that flew in his direction. “What? U-Boat captain didn’t do it for her; maybe she's got a thing for archaeologists instead?” 

“ _Jack_ —”

The other man sniggered. “Maybe she wants to jump your bones?” 

“Yes. Right. Thanks for that.” Recognising a lost cause when he saw one, the Doctor turned instead to the woman by the guard rail. “Rose Tyler,” he said, drawing her name out in a manner she swore should be illegal. “Have you forgotten I’m a certified genius? Utterly charming. Devilishly handsome. Brave—”

“—modest?” 

“— _completely_ brilliant,” the Doctor enthused, donning his brainy specs for good measure. “Nine centuries in, it’ll take more than your mother to scare me. Even if she does have an unhealthy obsession with my manly bits. ” 

“ _Right…_ ”

Jack clapped his hands together. “Anyway,” he said, stretching out across the jump seat, “the mini-skirt I could handle, it was Howard’s thong I could’ve done without.” 

“Oh my god.” Rose buried her face in her hands as she sat down beside him. “Please tell me we aren’t discussing my mother’s sex life.” 

“Not at all,” Jack replied, flinging his arm around her shoulder. “We’re discussing mine—or should I say the _lack_ of it. Five months with you two is hell on a man’s libido, and I’m in the mood for some good old 51st century pampering. What do you say, Doc? Quick detour to the Lotus Nebula?” 

“What’s in the Lotus Nebula?” Rose asked, and the Doctor crossed his ankles as he leant back against the console. 

“Remember that time we landed on Shantella Prime? 

“You mean the place with the—” 

“Yep.” 

“And the—”

“Oh yes!” 

“Ah…” Rose blushed at the erstwhile memory. “No offence, Jack, but I think I’ll pass.” 

“Fine by me,” he replied, propping both hands behind his head. “I’m sure I can entertain myself for a bit.” 

“I’m sure you can.” Leaping to her feet, Rose tousled his hair before moving to the Doctor’s side. “Just the two of us, then,” she said with a decisive nod. “Fancy a trip to Barcelona? I hear the city’s got nothing on the planet.” 

The Time Lord beamed in delight. “You _do_ listen.” 

“Sometimes,” she agreed, knocking him impishly with her shoulder. “Although with your track record we’ll probably end up in Cardiff…”

“… _again_ ,” Jack coughed, and folding his arms, the Doctor glanced knowingly between them. 

“Are you casting aspersions on my piloting skills, Rose Tyler?” 

“Well if the sonic fits...” she said, fighting a shiver as he brushed against her side. God, he was close, and Rose’s heart threatened to burst from her chest as he flashed her a playful grin. 

“Dogs with no noses, eh?” 

“How do they smell?” Jack wondered aloud, and his ship mates fell about in return. 

“ _Terrible_.”  
  
  
Two hours later, and both men were otherwise engaged with the Temporal _Whatchamacallits._ Rose had been craving a decent shower for days now, and all that talk of chronometric shift patterns was the perfect excuse to bid them farewell as she made her way to the master en-suite—a decision she would soon regret at she took in the sight before her. 

The bed was a mess—a soft green jumper standing out sharply against the midnight blue of the rumpled sheets. Beside it, lay the Doctor’s leather belt, and Rose felt her knees crumple as her fingers skimmed reverently over the silk kimono that lay draped across the night stand. 

Perhaps she should’ve seen this coming. Heaven knows there’d been barely a moment to herself in the past week—barely any time to think or digest the magnitude of what had happened. But now, safe aboard the TARDIS, with nobody watching her, nobody depending on her, now, she allowed the tears to fall. 

The constant supply of hot water was a godsend, and stripping out of her clothes, Rose braced a hand against the tiles, her shoulders shaking as she let it all go. Their ordeal aboard the Game Station played endlessly throughout her mind, yet no matter how hard she concentrated, the specifics continued to elude her. Everything was so jumbled—like a jigsaw puzzle that refused to fit together, and a dull ache settled in her chest as the most vibrant of her memories assaulted her again. 

There was no escaping it. Whenever she closed her eyes, it was there. The man she loved, consumed from within—flames, licking his skin, burning, blinding—until finally, finally, she’d looked again, and he was gone. The Doctor—her Doctor, changed forever. It was no wonder then, that sleep had been so elusive, and a sob hitched in Rose’s throat as she remembered the sorrow etched across his features—that unadulterated dread as he’d ordered her to stay back, when all she’d wanted was to run to him, help him, keep him safe. 

Time Lord trick he’d told her—cheating death—but this new version was so, so different to the one she’d met in Henrik’s department store. Be it the timbre of his voice or his accent itself, the pale skin and the sideburns, or the makings of an oral fixation that thus far Rose refused to dwell on. Yet in spite of all that, some things—the important things—remained the same. 

Their bond for example. 

When she’d first taken his hand on Christmas day, she’d instantly felt that connection. In the blink of an eye, his hopes, his fears, his emotions had washed over her, and Rose knew with all her heart that he was the same man—it was her head, however, that continued to struggle. 

Sometimes, in her darker moments, she worried that too much had changed—that his _fat lot of good_ , meant more than just friendly banter. And really, who could blame him? She’d let him down. Doubted him. Gave up on him—the one person she trusted above all others. Sure, she knew he was the Doctor—that much was indisputable—but was he still her Doctor? 

And more to the point, was she still his? 

A heavy sigh passed Rose’s lips, and humming a tune that was only vaguely familiar, she leaned forward to rest her forehead against the coral wall of the shower. Immediately, the ship’s presence soothed her, and Rose whispered an apology, her panic easing as she basked in the warm glow of reassurance. The link didn’t lie—he’d told her that from the start—and amidst those tumultuous sensations she’d felt the Doctor’s love shining as bright and vibrant as always. 

Yes, things were different, and yes, there was much to discuss, but the man she’d fallen in love with was still here—still by her side. Still mad. Still alien. Still, well…

… _foxy_ , Shireen had called him. 

Overexcited puppy had been Mickey’s less than complimentary input, and Rose found herself smiling as she reached for the bottle of soap. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d scratched behind his ears, after all. Maybe, given time, she’d get to scratch his belly too. 


	3. Chapter Two

“Hey.”

The Doctor jumped, hauled from his thoughts by Rose’s sudden appearance in the doorway. Her arms were crossed, one leg folded over the other, and the blatant similarity to his previous self was really quite alarming. 

“Hey, yourself.” 

“You alright?” 

“I’m always alright,” he said, scowling at the jam covered fingers that’d stalled half way from the jar. “Just thinking.” 

“Dangerous, that.” 

A sinful smirk curled her lips, and the Doctor answered in kind as he swept his tongue along the sticky digits. “Jack’s off gathering supplies,” he told her, carrying a fresh pot of tea to the table. “I daren’t ask _what_ supplies exactly—some things are best left to the imagination. Still, his loss is our gain. Hungry?” 

“Starving,” Rose said, making her way to the kitchen cabinets. “That’ll teach him for downing Mum’s Sambuca—God knows what he was thinking trying to outdrink my cousin.” 

The Doctor chuckled. “It’s what he was thinking with that’s the problem,” he replied, catching an airborne packet of Jammy Dodgers. “Nothing new there, I suppose. ‘Course, that Mo can be rather—uh…” 

“—persuasive?” 

“— _intimidating_. I’ve never seen him so green.” 

Rose arched an eyebrow. “Not even when we returned Margaret to the hatchery?” 

“Not even when they _caught_ us,” he said, as she took a seat beside him. “I meant to do this sooner—should’ve done really, but between the Sycorax and trying to fend off your mother, things have been a little, well—”

“Crazy?” 

“Something like that.” Nervous, he scooped at his hair. “Still, it’s not everyday that I—What?” He broke off. “Rose? What are you looking at?” 

“…it’s bigger.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Your hand,” she explained, bringing her thumb to her mouth and nibbling at the cuticle—something he hadn’t seen her do for months. “The fingers are longer… thinner too.” 

“Are you making a list?” 

The blonde shrugged. “A lot’s changed,” 

“And a lot hasn’t,” the Doctor replied, grasping her gently by the forearm and saving the enflamed skin from any further torment. 

He knew better by now than to push her—his Rose had proven to be one for internalisation when her emotions were this raw—but their physical contact had been woefully absent of late, and the instant renewal of their mental connection was too vital to forfeit. 

“I’m still me, Rose.” 

“I know,” she said, settling their joined hands upon the table. “I know you are… it’s just…” Embarrassed, she shook her head. “Takes a bit of getting used to, is all.” 

“We have time.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, her gaze burning a trail down his body. “I guess we do.” Bit by bit, Rose’s concerns bled through their link, and the Doctor held his breath at her silent appraisal. “You’re younger,” she said, steeling that courage he constantly admired. “You’re older but you’re younger too. What’s that about? Another trick?” 

“Think of it as an upgrade,” the Doctor replied, as her slender digits traced a pattern across his wrist. “Still, not bad for nine hundred, eh?” 

“No complaints from me.” 

“No?” 

“Nope,” she said, blessing him with that tongue-touched grin. “Doesn’t stop me being curious, mind.” 

“Does it ever?” 

“Watch it,” she teased, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “You said it yourself, the process was a bit dodgy. So with the hands and the hair… _well…_ ” Rose winked. “What else is _bigger_ I should know about?” 

The Doctor snickered. “Oh, nothing you haven’t seen before,” he replied loftily. “You’re the one who put me in those pyjamas, after all.” 

“Am I?”

“ _Aren’t_ you?” The Doctor felt his heartsrate double in an instant. “Rose Tyler, please tell me you didn’t let your mother near my trouser department! I mean really, magnificence aside, that’s no excuse for every Tom, Dick and Jackie to be looking at it. _Blimey_ …” He scratched the back of his neck. “No wonder she wants a piece of me.” 

“Whatever, pretty boy.” 

“Oi!” 

“Relax,” she said with a sigh. “It was me, alright—but it’s not like I was looking or anything. For all I knew you were…” 

Just like that, the brief moment of levity dissolved, and the Doctor cursed his frankness as his bond-mate retreated, her attention falling to her tea—her sleeve—anything, _anywhere,_ but _him_. 

“Rose?” Her name shaped his lips without conscious thought. “Rose, look at me,” he said, unable to resist cupping her cheek and raising her face to his. “I know a lot’s changed, but the key things—the things that _really_ matter—my thoughts, my memories…” He swallowed hard. “…my _feelings_ … they’re still the same. They always will be.” 

“R-really?” 

“Really, really,” he replied, wanting to banish her doubts completely. “You shaped me, Rose Tyler. You guided me, and—”

“Doctor?” 

“…You saved me.” 

Rose blinked owlishly. “From what?” 

“Myself.” 

It wasn’t often a Tyler woman was rendered speechless, but there was a fine line between knowledge and understanding, and in the wake of his disclosure the Time Lord felt his pulse accelerate as a fierce determination spread across his companion’s features. 

“Well,” she ventured at last. “I guess that explains the accent.” 

“Amongst other things,” the Doctor replied, yanking on his ear. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, you know?” 

“I do?” 

“Oh yes,” he said, feeling increasingly vulnerable. “You were the last thing I saw with those eyes—the only thing I _wanted_ to see as it happens… I was thinking about you—about us really—and I suppose, when you look at it that way—in a _completely_ , non-subjective point of view I hasten to add—it was inevitable that I’d want to… well…”

“Doctor?” 

“…please you.” 

For a long time Rose just stared at him. “P-please me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Cross my hearts,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “How’s that for a bit of a Spock, eh? Though as luck would have it I quite like this body. It’s a fine body. A fabulous body. A—to coin a phrase from my previous self— _fantastic_ body. Just bubbling over with energy and potential. Not that I’ve had the chance to break it in yet. Well… apart from the teeth of course—they took a bit of getting used to. Still, could’ve been worse.” 

“You reckon?” 

“Oh yes,” the Time Lord replied. “You should’ve seen some of my past efforts. ‘Course, they weren’t all bad—some of me were quite dashing. Tall, nice hair—we’ll skip over the curls.” 

“Are there pictures?” 

“I’d imagine so,” he said, as the sentient ship hummed in encouragement. “I’ll ask the TARDIS to round some up, shall I? I wouldn’t get too excited, mind—my dress sense was a bit, well…. _rubbish_ at times. Trust me, Rose, the leather was a vast improvement—there’s a coat in the wardrobe room that’ll give Joseph a run for his money. The cricket whites weren’t half bad though, but as for that celery—” 

“Celery?” 

“Yes, celery,” the Doctor continued. “You think I’m impressive now, I once saved the universe with a kettle, some string and a decorative vegetable. Not my most dignified accessory I’ll grant you, but it got the job done.” 

The blonde sniggered. “Since when have you cared about dignity?” she challenged, and the Doctor's mouth dropped open in mock amazement. 

“I’ll have you know, Rose Tyler, I am the very _definition_ of dignity. The sultan of suave. The _count_ of civility—”

“The Grand Duke of gobbiness?” 

“ _Behave._ ” 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” she asked, making him squirm in his seat. “You do this a lot then?” 

“Oh, no,” the Doctor replied hurriedly, “not a lot. _Well_ …” He sucked in a breath. “…not a lot, a lot. Jeopardy friendly, that’s me—born trouble maker. Still, I don’t usually run through bodies that quick—that’s why I didn’t mention anything before. I should’ve—meant to, even, but I suppose I just—”

“Ran out of time?” 

The Doctor nodded. “It’s all a bit ironic really. In the Alanis Morrisette sense, of course. Not that pedantic dictionary version.” 

A rush of affection surged through their link, and the Time Lord shuddered as Rose sent him an indulgent smile. “How many times?” 

“This’ll be my tenth body,” 

“ _Tenth?_ ” 

“Now, now,” he recoiled, reaching up to straighten his tie. “Don’t go giving me that look. For one, it reminds me of your mother—as terrifying a prospect as that might be—and two, there’s no rushing perfection. _Ooh!_ Just wait till I show you my mole.” 

Rose snorted. 

“What?” he said, patting her back as she recovered from her coughing fit. “I thought you liked the pinstripes?” 

“Oh, I _love_ the pinstripes… even if the shoes are a bit...” 

“What?” 

“You know…”

“No, really, what?” 

Rose was unable to contain a bark of laughter. “Plimsolls,” she squeaked, as the Time Lord pursed his lips, all fake bluster and wounded pride. “Seriously, Doctor, I used to wear them for P.E.” 

“Ah…” He sniffed. “Gymnastics.” 

“I got the bronze.” 

“So I recall,” he said, nudging her foot beneath the table. “But for your information, Rose Tyler, _these_ are a bona fide pair of Chuck Taylor’s. Genuine, one-of-a-kind Converse from the good ol’ U S of A, I’ll have you know—not something you can pick up for a couple quid down the high street. Honestly! With all those girly mags you leave lying about, I’d have thought you’d know the difference.” 

“Girly mags?” His companion smirked. “I think you’ll find the porn belongs to Jack—”

“ _Rose!_ ” 

“Now now,” she mimicked. “No need to get pouty.” 

“Time Lord’s do not pout.” 

“They don’t form mental bonds with silly little apes either, but I guess you’re just the exception, huh?” 

Grinning, the Doctor brushed a kiss to her knuckles. “No denying that,” he said. Struck by the need to explain himself. “But for the record, you are not an ape. I should never have called you that. I was petty, and jealous and well…” Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Quite honestly it was beneath us both.” 

“Oh…”A fiery blush heated Rose’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered, and hope flared to life in the Doctor’s chest as her eyes darkened, and the potent elixir of human pheromones tickled his senses. “So…”

“Hmm?” 

“Celery, huh?” 

“Low in calories, high in minerals, and worshiped on the planet Bergonosia…” The Doctor paused to scratch his chin. “… _well_ , that might’ve been my doing.” 

“And here I thought it was just a banana fetish.” 

“Right—Wait. _What?_ ” 

“Never mind,” Rose said as she placed her cup upon the table. “You’re not tempted to hit the produce aisle then? I doubt Howard could’ve hidden much more in that dressing gown.” 

And there she was. The woman he knew and loved. There was no turning back now, and borrowing some much needed valour, the Doctor allowed his mask to fall, strengthening their connection as he let the full force of his emotions flow through their bond. 

“You, Rose Tyler, are all the temptation I need.” 

“Liar…”

“Not to you,” he said, sweeping a damp lock of hair behind her ear. 

He loved seeing her like this. Straight from the shower—her skin glowing, scrubbed clean of the usual layers of makeup. She was beautiful, and it warmed his hearts to see her so fresh, so open. All the same, a thin coating of mascara did little to hide the evidence of her tears, and rusty though he might be on the domestic front, the Time Lord couldn’t lie to himself forever. 

“You’ve been crying.” 

Rose waved him off. “Doesn’t matter.” 

“Everything matters,” he said, taking her other hand in his. “I know I wasn’t good at this before, Rose, but regeneration is always hardest on my companions, and you… well, you’re not just another companion, are you? We’re a team. Hope and Glory. Mutt and Jeff. Pinky and—”

“—the Brain?” His more-than-a-companion glowered. “So gonna get you for that.” 

Rassilon, was it any wonder he adored her? Nevertheless, patience was not a Time Lord’s greatest virtue, and boldly the Doctor held her gaze, his grip tightening as a heavy sigh painted the air between them. 

“How can I miss someone when he’s sitting right in front of me?” 

“Ah.” 

“See,” she said. “Stupid, huh?” 

“No! No, Rose, it’s not stupid. Understandable really. You’re used to that daft old face—”

“I loved that daft old face,” she whispered, leaning in closer. “And, yeah, I admit I freaked out at first, but a bit of warning wouldn’t have hurt, you know? Isn’t there a guidebook for this sort of thing?” 

“Regrettably not,” the Doctor replied, relinquishing her hands as he tipped back on his chair. “Shame, really—might’ve come in useful. Rule one—no wandering off. Rule B—no arguing with your designated driver. Blimey, this thing writes itself. Now all we need is a title.” 

Rose scoffed. “Pretty sure _Hitchhiker’s_ is taken—”

“And Tolkein has the monopoly on _There and Back Again_ —Oh!” The Doctor leapt to his feet. “ _Zen and the Art of TARDIS Maintenance?_ No. Scratch that. What about—”

“ _Body Changing Time Lords and the Humans who Love Them?_ ” 

Said Time Lord almost fell to his knees. 

“So, you do?” he asked, thanking Omega for a respiratory bypass system. “I mean… still. You do, _still?_ ” 

Rose frowned as she moved to stand before him. “You doubt it?” 

“Well…” The Doctor rocked back on his heels. “I wasn’t sure.” 

“And you call Mickey an idiot—”

“Oi!” 

Inevitably, her gaze softened, and the Doctor could’ve laughed in giddy relief as Rose lay a palm between his hearts. “I promised you forever,” she said, leaning up to brush her lips across his temple. “So don’t you go doubting me either, right?” 

“Right.” Chest heaving, he drew a tremulous breath. “Good. That’s… good. Great! Always knew you were a smart one, Rose Tyler.” 

“Can I get that in writing?” she asked, and the Doctor chuckled, his eyes dancing in relief as she pulled him into a hug. 

All things considered, it was a struggle not to pull her into a kiss, but as his bond-mate’s head fell to his shoulder, the Time Lord contented himself with holding her tighter. Or at least he did, for the ten measly seconds it took for Rose to stiffen in his arms. 

“Doctor?” she murmured, her soft exhalations caressing his ear. “Why can I smell honeysuckle?” 

_Bugger._

“Is that…” Inhaling deeply, she giggled against his collar. “Have you been using my shampoo?” 

The Time Lord grew sheepish. “ _Possibly_.” 

“And the hair gel?” 

“There might've been some degree of experimentation, yes.” 

“Oh my God.” 

“Rose—”

“Well, isn’t this a Kodak moment?” drawled a voice from the hallway, and the Time Lord sighed in defeat as their shipmate sauntered into the kitchen. “Aw, come on, kids, don’t let me stop you. This’ll fuel my fantasies for weeks.” 

“ _Jack_ —”

The Captain grinned. “Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said, hopping up onto the counter. “I’m nothing if not persistent, Rosie. It’s the curse of a Time Agent.” 

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “I take it you’re packed then?” 

“Body oil and breath mints. What more could a man need?” 

And smirking, the Time Lord tossed him the sonic spanner from his breast pocket. 

“Kinky...” 


	4. Chapter Three

“Hold it!” demanded the Doctor’s voice from his spot beneath the centre console. “Now then, Jack, all we need to do is substitute the coefficients of the lift for the factor of the lateral sideslip, multiply that by the density diameter cubed, and—there we go. Brilliant!” Beaming, he hauled himself to his feet. “Simple really.”

“Speak for yourself,” the other man muttered, and Rose couldn’t help agreeing as she finished tightening the spectral _something-or-other_ beside him. 

“I swear he makes half this stuff up,” she whispered dramatically, and glancing between the two, the Doctor shook his head as he pocketed the sonic screwdriver. 

“Need I remind you these are the mechanical aspects of time travel we’re dealing with here—not the latest plot twist in _Eastenders_. We can’t all possess four dimensional logic and a massive brain—”

Rose spluttered. “Massive _ego,_ more like.” 

“And don’t you just _love_ it,” the Doctor replied, waggling his eyebrows as he pulled up the latest diagnostics. “Type 40’s are an unpredictable lot, Rose Tyler, and after the Game Station my piloting skills were a little… _well_ …”

“Rubbish?” 

“… _rusty_ ,” he countered as she stuck out her tongue. “Still, a couple more adjustments and we’ll be off. Anyone would think there’s a rush.” 

Jack chuckled merrily. “Well, I _do_ have a date with Destiny,” he informed them, twirling the spanner between his fingers. “Or was it Fate…” Trailing off, he scratched the back of his neck. “Identical twins,” he explained off his shipmates’ blank expressions. “God bless Psychic paper, eh?” 

Retrieving said paper, the Doctor handed him a ratchet instead. “Safety first, Captain.” 

“Already covered, Doc.” 

“That’s not—”

Rose smirked. “Better listen to him, mate,” she teased, stretching out her aching muscles as she sank into the jump seat. “God forbid we have a repeat of the whole twelve months thing again. I mean, really. Round the clock parties—an endless supply of _dancing_ …”

Jack whistled. “However would I cope?” 

And losing the battle with his distinctly _not_ -a-pout, the Doctor pitched his jacket at her head as he focused on the instrument panel instead. 

The damage was indeed quite extensive, and the three of them had spent several hours immersed in repairs. It was by no means an easy task. The maintenance logs themselves were sporadic, but by using his wrist comp, Jack had been able to scan the TARDIS’ archives, adding the new calibrations to the memory banks, and thereby providing a much-needed overhaul to the archaic system. 

“Hey, Doc,” the ex-Time Agent muttered, frowning slightly as he cross referenced the countless audio files. “Any idea what this’ll come under?” 

“Run a search for the blue stabilisers,” the Doctor suggested, crouching down to open the floor hatch. “If not, try the spatial geometer instead.” With that, the Time Lord disappeared into the bowels of the ship, and Rose smiled as a crisp English accent filled the room thereafter. 

_…nothing more than a temperamental cellanoid on the lateral balance cones…_

If she’d learned anything from this afternoon, it was that _no one_ did techno-babble quite like the Doctor—no matter which face he happened to wear at the time. Each little snippet, each tantalising glimpse into his past was an enlightening experience—and feeling happier than she had in days, Rose adopted her most angelic expression as she decided to have some fun… threadbare wings and all. 

“I don’t get it,” she said, scraping a glob of engine grease from beneath her nail. “‘Cause for a man who organises his sock drawer like his life depends on it, I’m starting to have some serious doubts about your tinkering skills…” 

“Oi!” Like a shot, the Time Lord popped his head up from below the grating. “Don’t hear you complaining when they’re on _your_ feet, Rose Tyler,” he said, brandishing a pile of multi-coloured cables. “And I _believe_ the word you’re searching for is _fixing_. It’s no easy task cataloguing a millennia’s worth of data.” 

“Good thing you’ve got us then.” 

“It is,” he replied solemnly—or as solemnly as one could whilst sporting a Cheshire cat grin. “At any rate, I’m a bit fussy about who I let work on the TARDIS. Can’t trust just anyone with this sort of thing now, can I?” 

The other man snickered. “Aw, Doc, I’m touched. If I knew you trusted my hands on your girl—”

“The _ship,_ Captain, not—” 

Rose cleared her throat. 

“Never mind,” the Doctor said, rolling up his sleeves as the blonde just _dared_ him to continue. 

“So how’s it work then? I thought the TARDIS didn’t translate Gallifreyan?” 

“She doesn’t,” Jack replied, his gaze trained wisely on the view screen. 

“Then how—“

“Process of elimination,” the Time Lord explained, sucking on his fingers as a shower of sparks cut her off mid-sentence. “Jack’s slightly empathic, and the TARDIS is willing to offer up potential candidates even if she won’t translate the language itself. She must like you, Captain.” 

Jack preened. “Of course she likes me,” he said, as the TARDIS’ lights dipped in response. “It takes a steady hand to get those roundels spick and span. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

The Doctor grimaced as the ship’s hum turned almost sensual. “I’ll _pretend_ I didn’t hear that,” he muttered, climbing out of the pit and folding himself onto the jump seat beside her. “Can you believe this, Rose? Centuries we’ve been together, and this is it! The beginning of the end! Time to play the music, time to light the—oh wait…” The Doctor paused. “Sorry, that’s the _Muppets_ … Still, my point stands. She…” He pointed towards the rafters. “…is trading me in for a younger model!” 

Rose scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.” 

“Right. Hang on—what?” 

“Forget it,” she said, jostling him with her elbow. “You were saying?” 

“Candidates, Rose—possibilities. Once the TARDIS sends the codes to Jack’s computer, it’s merely a matter of pinpointing the specific component. The rest is just maths. Well…” He tugged on his ear. “I say maths—happy primes if we’re being specific.” 

“Happy what?” 

Jack raised his hands. “Don’t look at me.” 

And disbelieving, the Doctor flicked between them. “Don't they teach recreational mathematics anymore?” 

“How should I know?” Rose replied with a shrug. “Dropped out of school remember? Sums weren’t exactly my strong point.” 

“Oh please!” The Doctor propped his feet up on the console. “You don’t need A-Levels for Space travel, Rose Tyler. Forehead Boy was proof enough of that.” 

“Forehead Boy?” the Captain laughed. 

“ _Adam_ ,” the Doctor replied, painfully aware of his lingering jealousy. “Obnoxious. Arrogant. Personality of a tapeworm...” 

“Sorry I missed it.” 

“Sorry we _didn’t_ ,” Rose muttered, and turning back around, the Doctor covered her palm with his. 

“Forget about the paperwork,” he said, the truth of his convictions written all over his face. “You’ll not have learned anything worthwhile from a text book, anyway. Trust me, Rose, real life—that’s where it matters. The journey. The adventure. Where else could you witness creation at it’s finest? Discover the wonders of empires dead and buried? Not in some 21st century classroom, I’ll tell you. Biology? Pitiful. Physics? Don’t get me started... and as for Technology… Well…” The Doctor ruffled his hair. “Why waste your time with silly metal boxes when you’ve got the finest ship in the Universe at your beck and call. And not just this Universe by the way. Any of them. All of them.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

The Doctor frowned. “What?” 

“You saying I could fly the TARDIS?” 

“Why not?” he said, tapping her on the nose. “Give yourself some credit. You’re smart—capable—and you’ve seen me do it enough to pick up the basics. The rest’ll come with practise.” 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” 

“Absolutely,” the Doctor replied, and his confidence in her abilities was almost staggering. “On one condition.” 

“Go on…”

A tell-tale smirk curled his lips. “No more trips to the Mall Planet of Rigel-3. I am not your pack mule, Rose Tyler.” 

“And here I heard you were hung like a—” 

“Jack!” 

The other man grinned. “Why thank you, Rosie. Didn’t know you cared.” 

“Prat.” 

“The same applies to you, Captain,” the Time Lord said, heaving a long-suffering sigh at his incorrigible shipmate. “There’s no point limiting your own defences when a short special-hop or fast return could mean an escape.” 

“I’m game if you are,” the former Time-Agent replied, “but just so you know—”

A loud whine and incessant beeping tore through the room, and the Doctor cursed as he darted forward to extinguish a spatter of flames emerging from the control panel. “Right,” he cried, grabbing a fistful of wires. “Two seconds. Just need to bypass the Banshee circuits and reroute the—Oh, hello… What does this do?” 

No sooner had he uttered the words did his companion’s heart constrict at the sight of her living nightmare. 

_This is Emergency Programme One_ , announced a painfully familiar hologram, and Rose recoiled in horror as the Doctor—her first Doctor—flickered like a ghost before her. 

_Rose, now listen, this is important._

The component in her hand shattered against the grating, and trance-like, the blonde’s eyes slipped towards the console—to where the _new_ him was jabbing frenziedly at the interface in a bid to silence his creation. The Time Ship herself seemed to shudder in protest, but with a triumphant yell the Doctor jammed his sonic into the inner workings, rifling through the settings before cutting off the transmission in one fell swoop. 

“Rose?” 

He touched her cheek and she flinched. 

“Rose, are you—”

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears as she pulled back, severing their mental connection. “I… I’m okay.” 

It was only a glimpse—mere seconds, at most, but those beloved features had ripped her defences to shreds, and wrapping her arms around her waist, Rose knew she had to get out of there before she did something she’d regret. Said something she couldn’t take back. Saw something… 

Saw something…

“R-really,” she gasped, forcing a smile. “I’m fine! Bit of a shock is all.” 

Neither man looked convinced. 

“You’re sure?” the Doctor asked, and Rose could only nod dumbly as she hoped he didn’t notice her trembling. The concern on his face was more than she could handle right now, and mumbling a quick—albeit _flimsy_ —excuse, Rose bade them goodnight, her footsteps scurrying down the corridor as her shipmates exchanged a worried glance behind her. 


	5. Chapter Four

It took the Doctor a grand total of three seconds to decide to follow her—and a further twenty-eight to actually convince his feet to move—nevertheless, as the Time Lord roamed the empty hallways of his labyrinthine ship, he couldn’t squash the worry that perhaps Rose didn’t want to _be_ found at all.

He’d already checked their bedroom—and a half dozen more besides. The library was deserted; the swimming pool empty, and the only trace in the kitchen was a half eaten packet of Jammy Dodgers. She wasn’t in the gardens or the gymnasium either, and by the time he’d circled back to the console room his composure was wearing thin. There was nothing else for it, and loathe to admit defeat, the Doctor reached out to the TARDIS herself, his concern surging through their link as he appealed to her better nature. 

It took a while, but with the enticement of a much-needed Photon change—not to mention an inordinate amount of un-Time Lordly begging—she finally flashed him an image of his missing companion. That tortuous look of sorrow would be forever burned into his mind’s eye, and spinning on his heel, the Doctor ventured back down the corridor, under the stairs, past the bins, and eventually—somewhat dubiously—through the fifth door on his left. 

Despite this body’s predilection for a suit and tie, the Time Lord had so far avoided the vast evening-wear section of the TARDIS wardrobe room. An eclectic range of tuxedo’s and gowns stretched as far as the eye could see, but the ring box he’d been carrying around since Kyoto burned a hole in his pocket as his thoughts straying inevitably to that blissful moment of union only nine short days ago. 

He’d always suspected the TARDIS held a soft spot for his other favourite girl, but such carefree notions of an Earth ceremony seemed almost ludicrous now, and so it was with heavy hearts that the Doctor took a second to finger a satin lapel, regret clouding his better judgement as he lamented what might have been. 

Still, Rassilon knew _that_ route could only lead to ruin, and removing the temptation the Doctor pivoted to his right, refusing to examine the time lines too closely for fear of what lay ahead. It couldn’t be much further now—dimensional transcendence notwithstanding, and with his ship urging him onwards the Time Lord forced his legs to move, only to feel his hopes plummet as he at last came face-to-face with his quarry. 

“Mum put it with my things,” she whispered, her voice soft and hesitant as she huddled into his old leather jacket. “I’d forgotten… after everything that happened… and I just…” 

“Rose…”

“You’re here,” she said, offering up a tentative smile. “You’re here but you’re not….a-and I can’t help it—I miss him. I miss you, and—”

“It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not!” she cried, swallowing a sob as he knelt before her chair. “I feel like a traitor—like I’m betraying him in some way. And I know that’s stupid, I know that h-hurts you, and I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry…”

“Don’t be,” the Doctor said, cursing his legacy for causing her pain. “You’ve nothing to apologise for, Rose. You’re still grieving.” 

“But you’re not dead!” 

“No,” he replied, thumbing the tears from her cheeks. “No, I’m not, but that doesn’t mean you can’t mourn the man I used to be. Whatever it takes, Rose—whatever you need, just tell me, and I’ll do my best to put this right.” 

The blonde scoffed. “How?” she asked, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “How can this ever be _right_ when I’ve no idea why you changed in the first place? My memories are all over the place, Doctor, and every time I get close it’s like there’s something stopping me. S-something that—” With a gasp, Rose’s gaze hardened in recognition. “Was that you?” she demanded, shrinking back into the cushions. “Did you... did you alter my—“

“No!” the Doctor replied, aghast. “No, Rose, I’d never—” 

“Then why can’t I remember?“ she said, her bottom lip quivering as she implored him for an answer he was unable to give. “It’s like one minute I’m back with Mum and Mickey—and don’t think I’ve forgiven you for _that_ either by the way.” 

“Oi!” Stunned, the Doctor leapt to his feet. “Did it look like I had a choice?” 

“You’re a Time Lord,” she shot back, her jaw set in determination. “Of course you had a bloody choice!” 

“Not when your life was at stake, I didn’t! You know how much I—” Stopping short, the Doctor shook his head. “You know how I feel about you, and I thought I was going to die, Rose. Finished. Kaput. Finito! There’d be no coming back from a Delta Wave, and I promised Jackie I’d keep you safe—”

“By sending me home?” 

“Yes!” 

Undeterred, she marched towards him. “ _This_ is my home,” she said, her anger fading as quickly as it came. “Doctor, you... _you're_ my home. How can you not know that? After all that we’ve been through—all that we’ve done—”

“Rose—”

“How could I belong anywhere but by your side?” she whispered, and the Time Lord’s arguments died on his lips as he prayed it could only be that simple. 

“You don’t understand.” 

“Then tell me.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Why not!” she cried, visibly shaking where she stood. “Help me, Doctor. _Make_ me understand.” 

His bond-mate’s desperation cut him deeper than words or weapons ever could, and wary of overstepping the unwritten boundaries between them, the Time Lord offered her his hand as he bade himself to take it slow. 

“You used our bond to communicate with the TARDIS,” he said, borrowing a touch of that fabled human resilience. “Begged the ship to take you back to me. _Well_ …” He swallowed thickly. “…I say me. Jack too—both of us really. You looked into her heart—channelled the power of the Time Vortex itself. You did what I couldn’t. You ended the Time War—reduced the entire Dalek fleet to atoms. The world was your oyster, Rose Tyler—your wish was the Universe’s command. For that one perfectly _petrifying_ moment you had it all. Infinite power. Infinite possibilities. But it was too much. You couldn’t control it—couldn’t refine it. You were going to burn, so I—”

“—took it away,” she finished, her gaze unseeing as he carefully fed her images through their link. “You kissed me.” 

“Yes.” 

“You kissed me and—” Helpless, he watched the colour drain from her face. “Oh my God.” 

“Rose—“

“I… I killed you.” 

“No,” he rushed to amend, as she struggled from his grasp. “No, Rose, you didn’t. You saved me. If it weren’t for you I’d be nothing but dust. I owe you my life, Rose Tyler—in more ways than one. You were _definitely_ worth fighting for.” 

“But I’m not worth dying for,” she argued, turning around to rest her hands against the guard rail. “How could you even… I mean…” Overwhelmed, she exhaled a shaky breath. “You’re you. You’re important, Doctor. You _matter_ … And me… I’m just—“

“Everything,” he said, stepping up behind her. “You’re everything.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“It’s true,” he insisted. “And it helped, you know? You being there. It gave me a purpose. Made things simpler… easier, I suppose.” 

“How do you mean?” Rose asked, as he placed a palm upon her shoulder. “’Cause from where I was standing there was nothing _simple_ about it. Sure as hell didn’t look easy either. You caught fire, Doctor. Right in front of me.” 

“Ah.” Feeling guilty, he pulled on his ear. “Yes, well… I held it off, you see. Longer than I should’ve, admittedly—hence the pyrotechnics—but I wanted to make sure Jack was aboard before I… well… you know…”

“ _Exploded?_ ” 

“Dodgy process,” he reminded her. “Regeneration sickness is rare, but considering the variables I didn’t want to take any chances. The Captain knows a little about my species—myths and legends mostly, but enough to be of some help should the need arise.” The Doctor paused. “He did, right? Help, that is?” 

His companion nodded. “Yeah,” she said, one hand creeping up to rest over his. “He explained a few things—kept me calm. Well…” She shrugged. “Eventually anyway. There aren’t many guys who’ll just sit there whilst a girl cries her heart out. I think I ruined his shirt…”

“Oh, Rose—”

“It’s alright,” she said, sliding their fingers together. “Just promise me you’ll never do it again.” 

“What?” The Doctor froze. “Change?” 

“Send me away.” 

“Oh.” The soft-spoken words threw him, and anxious, the Time Lord pressed a kiss into her hair. “You know I can’t do that—”

“But—”

“—next time,” he continued, cutting her off gently, “and given the life we lead, I can guarantee there will be a next time—I promise I’ll give you the choice. You’re a crazy woman, Rose Tyler—stubborn as the Judoon to boot—but I figure that’s the least I owe you.” 

“Owe me?” Rose scowled as she twisted in his embrace. “You don’t—”

“Every cell in my body was dying,” he explained, breathing in her scent. “It hurt, Rose—more than I could possibly convey, but throughout it all I could feel you—here.” He tapped his forehead. “And here.” His palm flattened over his chest. “I tried to shut down our connection—shield you from the transference… but just knowing you were there—knowing you’d be with me on the other side… that’s what made it easier,” he confessed, one hand falling to her hip. “Selfish of me, I know. To think that I… I…”

“Doctor?” 

“I almost lost you,” he murmured. “Another second or two and I…” Dumbstruck, he moved closer, his converse barely touching her own scuffed trainers. “I can’t do that again.” 

“You won’t.” 

“One day I will,” he whispered, forgoing his self-denial. “You can spend the rest of your life with me, Rose Tyler, but—”

“Hey…” The Doctor’s hearts twisted as she guided his head to her shoulder. “Forever is what we make of it, yeah?” 

The sanctuary of his arms was the best answer he could give, and the shiver that raced down Rose’s spine told him all he needed to know. Her life was so fleeting, his, eternal, and forever would never be enough—for either of them. Nonetheless, be it days, weeks or years—oh, how he wished for years—the Doctor swore to love this brilliant little human until the last sun burned out, until the Universe bent and crumbled around him, until Time itself erased his wretched soul from existence. 

Until, and beyond. 

Rose Tyler was his, as much as he was hers, and holding her close the Doctor exhaled slowly, surrendering to the moment as her presence instilled him with a rare sense of calm. 

“Did I ever mention you have _really_ great hair?” she teased, instantly breaking his melancholy as her nails raked across his scalp. “We might have to pop to Tesco’s after all. Can’t have you stealing all my beauty products now, can I?” 

The Doctor smirked as she arranged the gravity-defying strands to her liking. “Fancy me as a blonde, do you? _Ooh!”_ Excited, he whipped out his glasses. “Now there’s a—“

“Oh, no.” His companion arched a brow as he squinted at the brunette strands. “Seriously, Doctor! Don’t even _think_ about it.” 

“But, _Rose,_ I’ve never been a red head.” 

“We are _not_ dyeing it ginger.” 

“Why not?” the Doctor asked, seriously reconsidering his stance on pouting. “Variety is the spice of life, Rose Tyler.” 

“Uh-huh…” she replied, her tongue peeking out to tempt him, “but in case you haven’t noticed, _Time Lord_ , you stand out enough as it is. Do you really fancy a beacon on top your head the next time we’re running from the locals? It’s bad enough when you blow stuff up—”

“Oi!” Grinning, the Doctor poked her with his finger. “For your information, my recent explosive tendencies are always Jack’s doing. Well…” He paused. “I say _always_ … usually… sometimes… should’ve said sometimes there.” 

“ _Right…_ ”

“It’s true!” 

“Tell that to the people of Darillium,” Rose countered, and the sight of a genuine smile upon her lips made it impossible to take offence. “The Singing Towers aren’t so _singing_ anymore, are they, Doctor?” 

“And that’s my fault?” 

“You got us arrested.” 

“ _You_ wore that dress.” 

“And _you_ were the one who got me out of it,” Rose said, a warm flush spreading across her skin. “My knickers too, if memory serves.” 

Rassilon, he wanted her. Higher morals, his arse. 

“In fact,” she continued, narrowing the gap between them. “I’m beginning to think you do it on purpose.” 

“Are you calling me a rabble-rouser, Rose Tyler?” Feeling dizzy, the Doctor revelled in the unmistakeable perfume of her arousal. “A crowd carouser? A—”

“Oh my God. You really do have a gob—”

“Oi!” The Time Lord rocked back on his heels. “I’ll have you kn— _Oh_ …“ 

“What?” 

The Doctor’s gaze dipped irrecoverably to Rose’s mouth. “Nothing!” he replied, his apprehension returning at full force. “Nothing at all. It’s just—uh…”

“Doctor?” 

“Mistletoe,” he murmured, nodding to where his meddlesome ship had just produced a sprig from nowhere. “But that doesn’t… I mean… we don’t have to—” 

“No?” 

“Precisely,” he said, as the TARDIS blew the equivalent of a mental raspberry. Clearly she’d developed a rebellious streak in her dotage, but the Doctor wasn’t about to mess this up by pushing for more than Rose was ready to give. “It’s probably just a glitch in the—”

_Wait_. 

Was that disappointment? 

A small frown darkened Rose’s features. “Don’t you want to?” she asked, and just like that, the Time Lord’s once superlative brain turned to jelly. And not the good jelly either. Pear jelly. All green and gross and—

“Doctor?” 

“No!” he replied in astonishment. “I mean, yes, I…” 

Damn it all to Skaro, where was Jack when you needed him? 

“I’d love too,” he managed at last, gathering what was left of his formidable Time Lord restraint. “But only if you’re ready? Are you ready? Not that I’m pressuring you or anything, because if you’re not, that’s fine. I’ll be happy with a cuddle—more than happy, really. In fact, I’d go so far as to say—”

“Doctor?” His ramble was cut short by the lightest of touches, and the Time Lord swallowed hard as Rose pressed a tender kiss to his thumb. “It’s alright,” she said, stroking his tie. “I want to.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you, though?” 

“Yeah!” she laughed, and scared witless, the Doctor reached up to cup her cheek. 

“I feel like I’ve never done this before.” 

“You haven’t,” Rose told him as he tilted her face to his. “Not with this mouth at least.” 

“New new Doctor?” 

“New new lips.” 

And this new new body was thirsting for her. 

There was only so much a man could take—Time Lord or otherwise—and fighting down an anticipatory tremor the Doctor thanked his exceedingly smug ship before taking what she so readily offered. Lightly, his knuckles grazed Rose’s chin, but despite his latent hunger the kiss remained gentle—slow, barely-there touches, little sips and glances—a mere hint of the riotous passions surging throughout their link. 

She fit against him differently now, each sensation both new and the same. Her soft sighs of encouragement set his pulse to racing, yet the haunting spectre of his companion’s grief was enough to keep him in check. The Doctor couldn’t bear it if this, their second first kiss, was something she’d later come to regret, and forfeiting the cautious embrace the Time Lord searched her eyes for any sign of rejection, only to find himself awed by the total acceptance shining in their depths. 

“Rose Tyler…” Her name escaped his throat—low, raspy and so very full of longing. “My precious, precious girl.” 

“My Doctor.” 

“Always,” he vowed, and dipping his head, he purged his sins again. “Always.” 

Desperate, he hauled her to him—a weeks worth of tension boiling over as he rediscovered her mouth— a fire let loose in his blood as he charted the familiar territory with unfamiliar teeth and tongue. Time Lord’s didn’t believe in heaven, but as the evidence of his arousal rocked against Rose’s stomach the Doctor was helpless to deny his angel’s call. A second later and her flavour washed over him. The bitterness of her tea, the sweetness of the biscuits, the salt from her tears, and yes, beneath it all, the lingering essence of Time itself. 

He wasn’t satisfied though—not that he ever would be—and determined to convey that which his words could not, the Doctor deepened the kiss, swallowing Rose’s moans until he tasted perfection—taking in her whimpers until he knew he was home. For endless minutes he feasted upon those pouty lips like a man possessed, until finally, reluctantly, the couple pulled apart, both of them breathless, both of them wondering why they’d waited this long in the first place. 

Clearly, they were both a bit thick. 

Still, no point crying over spilt milk, or so the cat-people of Orinai-3 used to say, and grateful for the gift of her benevolence the Doctor banded an arm around Rose’s waist, the other skimming up her back to tangle in her hair. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, unable to stem the tide of his emotions. “Nine hundred years without you, and now a week feels too long. What have you done to me, Rose Tyler?” 

“I'm sorry…”

“Not your fault,” the Doctor replied, resting his jaw atop her head. “You’ve been through a lot.” 

“We both have,” she said, sniffling as she turned her face into his shoulder. Her tears made him weak, her kisses, even weaker, but the delightful blush that coloured his bond-mate’s cheeks made it all worthwhile. “I guess I should take this off, huh?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” the Doctor replied, his fingers tracing her spine through the supple leather. “I do believe it looks better on you.” 

“That’s a matter of opinion.” 

“ _Yep_ ,” he said, cheerfully popping the ‘p’ as he backed them in the direction of the nearest wall. “Genius here,” he continued, fitting his pin-striped thigh between her own. “Of course, that’s not going to stop me from peeling it from your body the first chance I get. I’ve got plans for you, Rose. Just you wait till I find us a bed—” 

“Who needs a bed?” his companion challenged, her eyes full of dark promises as she wriggled against his erection. “’Cause I gotta tell you, Doctor, that dressing table’s looking pretty good to me.” 

Rassilon, it was looking pretty good to him too, and with three-quarters of the Time Lord’s blood supply currently located somewhere south of his belt buckle, who was he to worry about the specifics? 

“Be careful what you wish for, temptress,” he said, nipping at her bottom lip as the hand at the base of her spine slipped further into her jeans pocket. “You keep that up and I’ll have you on your back faster than you can say Raxacoricofallapatorius. Well…” He paused, fingers digging into her soft flesh with each purposeful thrust of his hips. “…I say _back_ —a variety of positions actually. Maybe even a few new ones.” A sly grin lit up the Doctor’s face. “I wonder if we can scandalize Jack.” 

“No chance!” Rose said, clutching at his biceps as he turned his attention to her shoulder. “ _Scandalise_? He'd pay good money to see that. We could make a fortune…”

“What sort of man do you take me for?” 

Rose laughed. “You really want me to answer that?” she replied hiking up his shirt, and the Doctor’s retort was lost to a groan as he peppered a line of kisses towards her ear. 

His victory was short-lived however as Rose’s nails raked across the sensitive skin of his stomach, and sucking in a breath, the Doctor was keenly aware of where this was heading. Surprisingly, a part of him longed to wait—to sweep her off her feet, carry her to their room—lay her down on that Diadem cotton and worship every inch of her silken skin. Another part—a part who sounded emphatically Northern and increasing impatient—argued that there’d be time for that later. That now, with his palm grazing the swell of Rose’s breast, his tongue duelling for dominance, and his lips forcing his lover’s into submission, that _now,_ the time was ripe to reclaim what was his. 

“Rose,” he gasped, realising that his respiratory bypass system had somehow failed to kick in. “Rose, please…” He couldn’t think beyond his need for completion, couldn’t focus beyond the all encompassing desire to be one with the woman who’d stolen his hearts. “I need…”

“Me too,” she whimpered as his left hand drifted towards her temple, and catching her urgency, the Doctor re-established their connection on the highest possible level. 

A collective sigh echoed throughout their consciousness as they each rejoiced in the comfort of their joining. Immediately, they were floating in a golden haze as the silver tendrils of the Doctor’s presence unfurled, seeking out the intrinsic lure of his bond-mate. A million indistinct images—a million contrasting notions—and beneath it all, the comforting hum of the TARDIS, offering him reassurance as an unrelenting battery of emotions hounded his senses. 

Love. Trust. Happiness. 

Determined, he forged onwards. 

Anguish. Fear. Loss. 

_I’m still here, Rose… still me…_

I know… I know… 

Every instinct told him to run, to pull back and let her gather her thoughts, but undeterred, his companion surged forward, wrapping his psyche in a blanket of compassion, faith, and a song— _the_ song. Their bodies were gone, but they were the light. Everything that was, is, and every could be stretched out before them—limitless, eternal—and defeated, the Doctor whispered her name as the doors flew open, mental shields falling like dominoes as her memories of the last few days flooded back in disjointed flashes. 

_I am the Bad Wolf…_

That ethereal voice resonated throughout their dream state. 

_I create myself…_

And before the Doctor could grasp the ramifications—before he could even _think_ to berate himself for leaving the vortex in Rose’s mind—the melody roared to a blistering crescendo as a new type of pain swept through him. Lightning flashed and thunder roared—the storm clouds parted and reality returned—and Rose— _his_ Rose—lay pale and immobile within his arms as the Time Lord staggered to the wardrobe room floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here be the angst...


	6. Chapter Five

The taste of Rose’s kisses still flavoured his mouth—the sound of her whimpers remained in his ears—but all of that amounted to nothing as the Doctor sprinted towards the TARDIS medical bay. Beneath his feet, the walls and corridors shifted as the sentient ship rewrote the path to his salvation, and careening through the infirmary door, the Time Lord’s thoughts collided as he lay his companion down on the lone metal bed—each one clamouring for position—each one more frightening than the one that came before.

“Rose!” he cried, gathering the numerous diagnostic tools around him. “Rose, can you hear me?” 

It didn’t even register that he’d slipped into his native tongue, and running the sonic from head to toe the Doctor murmured a soothing refrain whilst stroking the hair from her face. Mild dehydration—a slight fever—nothing to explain her physical collapse. Nevertheless, her pulse was steady, and the screwdriver showed no signs of foreign bodies. It came as little comfort however, and the initial relief that rushed through the Time Lord’s mind was immediately tempered by that which he could no longer deny. 

“What happened?” Jack demanded, no doubt summoned by the ship’s emergency procedures. “Doc?” 

“Not now, Captain,” he murmured, administering a broad range antiserum. She looked so fragile amidst the cold, sterile environment, and brushing aside her tank top, the Doctor’s hearts lodged in his throat as he attached a series of monitors to Rose’s skin. “Jack, I need—”

“Already on it,” the other man replied, reaching for the scanner. “Red button or blue?” 

Together, they did their best to make her comfortable, but with the seconds ticking away, and no end in sight, the Doctor could only blame himself as he backed towards the neural-analyser—snatching up the small cylindrical device before returning to his bond-mate’s side. Never speaking. Never _breathing_. Never looking away. 

Fearful of what might happen if he did. 

  
Thirty-seven minutes later, and the Doctor was wearing a groove in the infirmary floor. His jacket had long since been discarded—his tie hanging loose around his neck—and as the Time Lord watched the intravenous drip pump an anti-radiation solution into Rose’s arm, he couldn’t help thinking his fourth incarnation would’ve wrung his neck for such a grievous error. Hell, the Doctor was half tempted to go find his leather-wearing self and let _him_ do the honours instead. 

He’d tried everything— _literally_ everything—but still, she would not stir. Every scan proved negative, every sample was inconclusive, and in his grief the Doctor had spent the last half hour trying to communicate with the TARDIS herself. Clearly, the ship was protecting his girl as best she could, but the silence in his head was nigh on unbearable, and who knew what damage was being wrought in the meantime. 

From what little he’d gleaned, it appeared the sensory overload had short-circuited his companion’s brain. Her cardio-vascular system was working—her heart and lungs as strong as ever—but with the vital processes of her body already starting to slow, the chances of her slipping into a comatose state grew larger by the second. 

Discouraged, the Doctor kicked out at the nearest work bench—the heavy tome that landed on his right foot making him regret trading his boots in for converse. A hundred thousand books from countless different species filled his library, yet none of them provided the answers he sought. Nine centuries of experience—an unparalleled font of knowledge—and here he was, clutching at straws. 

This feeling of helplessness was more than he could stand, and the Doctor thanked his lucky stars when the timer beeped on the distillery across the room. Hurrying over, he scanned the crystalline solution before injecting the powerful stimulant into Rose’s arm—his eyes fixed on her chest as he waited for a sign, an inkling, a mere hint of improvement. 

Nothing. 

“Rose,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “Come on, Rose… time to wake up, now. I’m not asking you to say anything—mind, being Jackie’s daughter I’m surprised you’ve kept stumm for this long—just open you eyes for me, eh? How about that?” 

No response—not that he really expected one—and with trembling hands the Doctor took a seat, circling Rose’s wrists and breathing onto her slender digits as he rubbed the chilled skin. 

“I’m not sure what’s going on here,” he confessed quietly, “but I’m certain it’s related to the Game Station. Hardly surprising really—foolish as it was. But that’s okay.” The Doctor held on tighter. “I forgive you—cross my hearts and hope to… well… never mind that now, eh? All I’m asking is you look at me—just open those pretty eyes and— _Rose?_ …” Lost for words, he shuffled backwards on his chair, his gaze steady on her face as the display panel spat out the latest cerebro-readout. “Come on, Rose,” he repeated, quickly skimming the data. “You’ve got to fight this. I need you... I—”

A fourth presence warped the time lines, and squaring his shoulders, the Doctor turned to the anxious man in the doorway. 

“Any luck?” 

“Not as such,” the Time Lord replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just don’t get it, Jack. This lab boasts the finest equipment in the known Universe, but as far as the TARDIS is concerned, nothing’s wrong. The test results are clear, her vital signs are normal. She’s breathing on her own. Apart from a slight case of exhaustion she’s perfectly healthy. She’s just—”

“Unconscious?” 

“Right.” The amber lights dipped in unison as the Doctor lay his hand against the coral. “How can I help her when there’s _nothing_ for me to heal?” he whispered, and a look of dejection flashed in the other man’s eyes as he placed a fresh cup of tea beside the untouched one from earlier. 

“What about the TARDIS?” Jack asked, moving alongside him. “Could she be sick too? It’s not like her to give out false readings, but who knows what she’s picked up on her travels.” 

The Time Lord shook his head. “ _I’d_ know,” he replied, listening to her distant thrum. “This old girl’s a law unto herself, but if anything were wrong I’d feel it through our link.” 

“Telepathically?” 

“Correct.” 

Frustrated, Jack began to pace. “You’re linked with Rose too, yeah? Can’t you bring her round that way?” 

“I’ve never entered her mind without permission—”

“She’s not gonna hold it against you, Doc.” 

“I know.” 

“She loves you.” 

“I know!” the Time Lord cried in exasperation. “But the human brain is a delicate thing, Captain, and clearly those memories were hidden away for a reason. If I unlock them too fast, if I probe too far…” Overcome, the Doctor dragged a hand over his face. “Without knowing the full extent of the TARDIS’ influence, my presence could exasperate things,” he said. “It’d be like dousing a flame with lighter fluid—and I can’t take that risk, Jack. Not with her. “

“Is there anything I can do?” 

The Doctor rubbed his eyes. “Any chance you can access the Emergency protocols?” 

“I can _try_.” 

“Good,” he said, rising to his feet. “I want you to pull up everything you can on what happened that day. Video footage, audio transmissions—the whole nine yards. There’s got to be something I’m missing—something I can use to get through to her.” 

“And if that doesn’t work?” 

“Then there’s a chamber aboard the TARDIS,” the Doctor told him, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t come to that. “I’ve not used it in a few decades—well…” He scratched his neck. “I say decades, _bodies,_ really. Still, down the corridor, under the hammocks, past the rubber ducks—trust me, you don’t wanna know—it’s called the zero room. Ideal for neurological healing. If I can isolate Rose from random influences, then maybe—”

The mental nudge was more like a shove. 

“No!” the Doctor exclaimed as the TARDIS severed his train of thought. “ _Nonononono!_ ” Rose’s heart monitor bleeped angrily, and his own hearts stopped altogether as her blood pressure plummeted, sending her body into spasms. “Jack!” 

Immediately, the former-Time Agent was darting to the top of the bed, cushioning Rose’s skull as her back went rigid and a piercing scream rent from her throat. That unmitigated terror would haunt him till his dying day, and the roiling dread in the Doctor’s stomach grew as he double-checked his bond-mate’s airways, fumbling for the sonic as Rose’s fingers curled inwards, drawing blood from her palms. 

His name—Rassilon, help him, she’d called his name—and the Doctor could only pray it offered some small measure of comfort as she fell back to the mattress, so frail, so silent, and so completely _un_ -Rose like, that he hardly dared to dream. 

  
An hour after Rose’s initial collapse, and he was still none-the-wiser. Jack’s tireless search through the archives had yet to yield anything substantive, and now, with his companion shivering uncontrollably where she lay, and any attempt to reach the TARDIS meeting a detached wall of silence, the Time Lord had to forcibly remind himself that his ship had never steered him wrong. 

_Well_ … The Doctor frowned. _Figuratively, if not geographically._

A grey tinge had taken over Rose’s skin, and curbing his disloyalty the Time Lord clambered onto the bed, wrapping her in his arms as he increased his own body temperature by a few degrees. It was the stillness that frightened him the most. His Rose was always so vivacious—so brim full of life—and to see her like this drove the Doctor’s thoughts in directions he tried hard to avoid. 

“Anything?” he asked, his tone measured as his weary shipmate trudged back into the infirmary. The desolate look on the Captain’s face was an answer in itself, and exhaling a shaky breath, the Doctor disentangled himself from his prostrate companion. “She promised she’d stay with me,” he muttered, his mind drifting as he examined the blood transfusion he’d started after her seizure. “I walk in eternity, and she told me forever.” 

“Doc…”

“I let myself believe it, too. Even though the very idea was just—” 

“Impossible?” Jack’s eyes were a tell-tale shade of red. “Yeah, well… if there’s one thing I’ve learned travelling with you two, it’s that _impossible_ means nothing when it comes to Rose Tyler. We’re not beat yet.” 

“I know,” the Doctor said, the words falling flat as he dragged his gaze towards him. “She remembered, Jack. The Vortex, it’s still… I thought I'd got it all—but there’s no other explanation. I’ve tried. I just… I don’t…”

“You can't blame yourself—”

“Then who should I blame?” the Time Lord demanded, shooting a dark look towards the ceiling, not caring that his ship’s influence was universal. “If it weren’t for me... if we'd never met...” 

“Then Rose would’ve died in a department store basement,” the Captain replied, crossing his arms as he stared him down. “ _You_ too, by the sounds of it.” 

“I can't lose her, Jack.” 

“You _won’t,_ ” he replied with absolute certainty, and clenching his jaw, the Doctor could only nod in return. 

These humans were such indomitable little creatures; all the same, that boundless optimism would only get them so far, and he of all people knew that time couldn’t heal all wounds—especially those _wrought_ by Time itself. 

“Our girl’s a fighter,” Jack continued, resting a hand upon his shoulder, “but in the meantime she needs you to be strong—we _both_ do.” 

“And if I can’t?” 

“You don’t have a choice.” 

“Thanks,” the Doctor whispered, his lips twitching slightly as he gave up any pretence. “I don’t know what else to do.” 

“Then do what you always do,” the other man replied. “Make it better. Be with her—talk to her—let her know she’s not alone. It might not be much, but that’s what counts.” 

“ _Right here and now…”_

“Sorry?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” the Doctor said, massaging his temple as he forced himself to focus. “Come on!” he cried, smacking his forehead for good measure. “Think! Think! Think! You’re a nine hundred year old Time Lord. You’ve studied under Lister and Bell themselves. Top of the class—a certified genius—the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes, and a dab hand with a cricket bat. Saving Rose Tyler is _not_ up for debate.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Jack replied, his cheerful façade crumbling as he glanced towards the girl in question. "Just, do us all a favour, yeah? _Tell_ her. One way or another—it’s up to you—but _tell_ her. Life’s too short for regrets." 

There was nothing else left to be said, and leaning down the Captain pressed a lingering kiss to Rose’s cheek before returning to his task. Perhaps it was despair, maybe it was hope, maybe it was nothing more than good old fashioned Time Lord stubbornness, but with a renewed sense of vigour the Doctor set to work on a vial of Rose’s blood, running test after test as he called upon Gods and deities he’d never believed in that somehow, some _way,_ he would finally find his miracle. 


	7. Chapter Six

After two hours he was frantic.

After three he was desperate. 

And as the fourth straight hour of torment extended into a fifth, the Time Lord wanted nothing more than to grab her—shake her—scream at her to wake. 

_“What's in a name?”_ he murmured, kicking off his shoes as he decided to put his sizeable gob to good use instead. _“That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”_ Carefully, the Doctor climbed onto the bed, manoeuvring himself behind her as he dropped a kiss to Rose’s hair. “Wise man, that Shakespeare, but it suits you, I think. My Rose. So soft, yet so brave.” The Time Lord scoffed. “And then there’s me,” he continued, cool breath ghosting across her cheek. “Still a coward—still unable to tell you how I…” 

Trailing off, the Doctor cleared his throat before trying again. 

“My eighth self, now _he_ was the poet. So many verses I’ve memorised over the years—so many novels—and no matter their origin, Rose Tyler, no matter where I go in this big old Universe, it’s all about love. It’s all we think about—all we _dream_ about… even those of us who’re supposed to be above it.” 

_“This rose of pearl-coated infinity transforms the diseased slums of a broken heart into a palace made of psalms and gold,”_ the Doctor quoted, tightening his grip about her waist. “That’s me when I met you,” he told her. “When you first took my hand—do you remember? You turned my entire world upside down. So beautiful and innocent—even then, you were the brightest thing in my existence, and I didn’t even know you. But then I did…” An unsteady breath fell from the Time Lord’s lips. “…and by knowing you—just being your friend—earning your trust… You made me want to change—be a better person. Be… worthy...” 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Rose Tyler,” he said, one eye on the monitor denoting her brain’s electrical impulses. “I’ve seen things and done things that—well…” He shook his head. “But you were like a beacon, you see—pulling me in… dragged me kicking and screaming all the way of course. I seem to have developed a… well, not a habit exactly… a tendency. Yes, that’s it. A _tendency_ to talk without actually _saying_ anything, but that’s not—I mean…” 

The Doctor sighed. “I shouldn't hide behind their words—I should make up my own—inadequate as they might be. Because it does, Rose—it does need saying. Still, those words—those particular ones… they don’t come easily for me—they never seem to fit… to do it justice… and I…” 

Overwhelmed, he reached for her hand. _“But he who dares not grasp the thorn, should never crave the rose,”_ he recited, entwining her fingers with his own. “And I dared, Rose. _Oh,_ did I dare. For so long I pushed you away—put you on a pedestal—kept you off limits. I’d convinced myself, you see? Told myself that it’d be easier in the long run... that it’d save me somehow when you weren’t…” He swallowed hastily. “So I just kept running—not literally of course. Well…” The Doctor floundered. “…sometimes literally—mostly literally, but often _emotionally_.” 

“I knew I didn’t deserve you. Knew I should’ve kept my distance. But I didn’t. I _couldn’t._ I think I always knew you’d win in the end.” Hesitantly, he turned her to face him. “And it’s not just the greats, either,” he said, projecting a wave of calm through their tactile connection. _“At that moment, our fates entwined. I know not why, but I know it to be true—I am bound to you forevermore. There is nothing to regret.”_

The Doctor sniffed. “See? Even that claptrap your mother reads has some merit. Don’t you go telling Jackie I read her Highlander book though—I’ll never live it down. Honestly, Rose, it was worse than those sparkly plasmovores you were raving about.” 

Blimey, this was torture. He’d always joked his little human could sleep through the end of the world; he’d never imagined her dream-state could bring about the end of _his._

“Words have power you see—and those words, those three little words; they’re the most powerful of all… Well…” he amended, thinking back to their bonding ceremony, “…that and a name… but you already know mine, don’t you, Rose Tyler? My true name that is—even if you never use it. And that’s fine.” 

The Time Lord bowed his head. “I chose to be the Doctor. He’s the man who showed you the stars. The man you danced with in a hospital basement—the man who couldn’t keep his hands off you after... and not just my hands either,” he said, recalling the way his inhibitions had vanished along with that Union Jack top. “He’s the man who kissed you and spared your life…” 

Though judging by where they were now, he’d clearly failed on _that_ count too. 

“…I’ll always be the Doctor to you… Your Doctor… My Rose...” 

The silence was suffocating, and biting his bottom lip, the Doctor slumped back against the headboard. He’d lost a lot of companions over the years—be it by choice or circumstance—but how could he even _begin_ to say goodbye to her? The woman who'd seen him at his best and worse. The pink and yellow human who’d taken the shattered remnants of a war torn soldier and made him whole—held him together. She was his equal, his _better_ —a Time Lord's bride. And without her... 

The Doctor shuddered. 

_Without her_ , didn't bear thinking about. 

“You promised me forever,” he whispered brokenly, his forehead buried in her shoulder as he rocked her back and forth. The time lines were so skewed they blinded him to the path ahead, and the Doctor poured forth an endless stream of assurances as he at last received a stoic sense of encouragement from his distant ship. “I'd be lost without you, precious girl.” 

All at once he was transported back to the Game Station—the Doctor’s mind recalling in vivid detail the crippling fear he’d felt when she’d returned—that sure fire knowledge that _soon_ he would be alone. _How?_ How could this be happening? He’d sacrificed his ninth self so that Rose could survive, and _oh,_ how he longed to do that again. To kiss her, save her, protect her from this plight. But, no. Not this time. This time was different, and throwing caution to the wind the Doctor grasped her with brutal force, his misery clear as he choked on a sob, drinking in her ashen features. 

“Please,” he implored, to Rose—to the Universe—he didn’t quite know. “I don't want to do this without you… I don't know if I can…” Everything happened so quickly, and as a violent spasm wracked her listless frame, the Doctor tucked her limbs in safely, holding her close as she bucked and fought against him. 

Rassilon, he was a fool. All this time he’d spent reeling himself in—holding back the depths of his feelings lest the truth pave the way to their separation, and here they were anyway. Broken. Burned. Bound for ruin. Rose Tyler was his life, his hearts, his reason for being, and by everything the Doctor held dear, he swore to let her know. Sooner rather than—

Gods help him. 

“I love you,” he breathed, throwing down fate's gauntlet as he lost the battle with his tears. “Do you hear me, Rose Tyler? I love you—I have loved you. I will love you. Right here, right now, and for the rest of my days. I love you. I l-love you—I—” 

A silent exhalation raised goose bumps on his neck, and the Time Lord panicked as his bond-mate listed to the side. “Not like this,” he cried, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Please, Rose, not like this…” His body on auto-pilot he smoothed the matted hair from her face, his sonic at the ready as he brushed his knuckles across her temple. “Forgive me,” he whispered, sending a silent apology to his ship, and without thinking of the consequences—without thinking of very much at all really—he ignored his better judgement and reached out through their link, only to draw back terrified as Rose’s eyes flew open on a gasp. 

Sightlessly, she stared straight through him. 

“… all things,” she whispered in that other-worldly voice. “…everything dies, my Doctor.” 

And with that her lashes fluttered closed—an ear-splitting cacophony of sirens filling the medical bay as Rose surged forward, her flailing limbs hounding his skin—scratching, bruising, breaking through the numbness that corralled him. He’d never believed in such things as soul mates, but if ever he’d found a match it was her. After all they’d been through—all they’d overcome—he couldn’t let it end like this, and gritting his teeth the Doctor pinned her to the mattress—Rose’s erratic heart rate beating a grim reminder of her mortality as the infirmary walls closed in around them. 

This was it. The definitive it. The great big threatening button of _it_ -ness. There was only one being who could help him now, and out of options—out of time—and definitely out of luck, an anguished cry tore from the Doctor’s throat as he gathered Rose’s body in his arms, stumbling in his haste to touch the floor. Instinctively, his feet navigated the corridor of their own accord, and Jack’s questions fell on deaf ears as he barrelled into the console room, skidding to a halt upon the harsh metal grating. 

“ _Help her!_ ” he bellowed, the ominous glow of the Time Rotor painting saturnine highlights over Rose’s lifeless figure. Straightaway, the TARDIS’ hum pitched in commiseration, but her attempts at comfort went unnoticed as Jack knelt beside him. “Please…” 

“No—”

“You promised!” he begged, halfway insensible as he relived every memory, every missed opportunity, every single damnable mistake that’d led them to this moment. “Don't you dare leave me, Rose! Don’t you dare!” 

“Doc, her arm!” 

Jack’s expression was a strange mix of reverence and fear, and like some cruel déjà vu the Doctor watched as a familiar golden glow spread beneath Rose’s skin. 

Fine. _Fantastic._ Brilliant, even. If the Universe tried to take her, then they’d have to take _him_ too, and shielding his eyes the Doctor’s grip tightened as the centre column whirred to life—the wispy tendrils of the Vortex itself stretching out, calling him home, forcing his attention to the furious demands of his keening ship. 

“Rose!” Unthinking, he crawled towards the open fissure. “I'm sorry… I’m so, so sorry.” All hopes of redemption were fading fast, and laying her down at the base of the console the Doctor’s hand flew to his lover’s neck, vainly searching for the flutter of a pulse he knew had already departed. “Please!” he screamed, smashing his fist against the coral supports. “Please! You did it once—I’m begging you, please… do it again—”

“Doc—”

“ _Bring her back to me!_ ” 

No sooner had the words left his lips did a rush of energy surge throughout the Time Lord’s body. He dared not look—dared not _believe._ The sound of drums thundered within his head—four successive beats heralding an encroaching madness—and the Doctor moaned aloud as he clutched at the guttering flames of his sanity. 

Reality was forfeit as his Rose jerked wildly in his embrace, and as her first breath escaped on a scream the Doctor hauled her onto his lap, his tears baptising her face as she clung to him in turn—grabbing at his shirt, tearing at his collar—both of them governed by the ceaseless desire for _more_. 

“I love you,” he whispered again as great, heaving coughs jolted her trembling body, and if Jack happened to send them a knowing grin as he slipped discretely from the room, the Doctor couldn’t bring himself to care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotes used are as follows
> 
> "What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet." – Wiliiam Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)  
>    
> “This rose of pearl-coated infinity transforms the diseased slums of a broken heart into a palace made of psalms and gold.” - Aberjhani, Visions of a Skylark Dressed in Black.
> 
> “But he who dares not grasp the thorn Should never crave the rose.” - Anne Brontë. The Narrow Way. 
> 
> “At that moment, our fates entwined. I know not why, but I know it to be true—I am bound to you forevermore. There is nothing to regret.” - Juliette Miller. Highlander Claimed


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a fluffy little interlude to make up for the heartache.

Later, in the dim light of their bedroom, the Doctor’s fingers traced an ancient pattern across the base of Rose’s spine. The TARDIS’ hum sounded as tired as he felt, and with his bond-mate’s head nestled against his shoulder—her soft exhalations skating along the column of his neck—the Time Lord couldn’t shake the lingering suspicion that his magnificent ship was the puppet master, and they, mere marionettes of her own design.

Physically, he was worn out—emotionally, the Doctor had never felt more exposed. The sonic didn’t lie, however, and stunned though he was by this grave turn of events, he wasn’t about to argue with a Universe that’d finally deemed to reward him after taking so very much in return. Ignorance may be bliss, but knowledge was true opinion, and unable to keep such facts to himself the Doctor embraced another time honoured cliché—feeling every day of his nine hundred years as he decided there was no time like the present. Or the past. Or—

_Oh, bugger it._

“Rose?” he whispered hoarsely. “You awake?” Her response was not of any language he’d ever heard, and taking a moment to steel his resolve the Doctor placed a kiss to the end of her nose, chuckling gleefully as she swatted him away, almost taking his eye out in the process. “Now, now,” he crooned, catching her by the wrist. “No need to get violent.” 

“I’ll show _you_ violent.” 

The pout on her lips bade farewell to his good intentions, and basking in the security of their link the Doctor nuzzled into Rose’s hair, reaffirming their telepathic connection as her features lit up like the twin suns of Pulluxis. 

“Something funny?” 

His companion simply smiled. “Isn’t that my line?” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Your face did.” 

“My face doesn’t talk,” he told her, scrunching up his brow as she toyed with the buttons of his shirt. “Alright… _technically_ it does—”

“—and quite a lot, too.” 

“Oi!” Grasping her by the waist, the Time Lord rolled to his side. “That was rude,” he declared, tangling them up in the cotton sheets. “I’m supposed to be the rude one here, Rose Tyler.” 

“Rude and not ginger?” 

“A right old misery.” 

“And yet,” she teased, flicking at his fringe, “still sort of brown.” 

“Minx.” 

Consequently—and really quite pleasantly—the Doctor’s next retort was quashed by the splendour of Rose’s mouth. With each soft caress his addled brain turned into a rather impressive pile of mush, and his companion smirked as he drew away breathless, throwing her leg over his hip as she rocked against him. “Come on. Out with it, Time Lord. I’m not getting any younger, here.” 

“Not getting any older, either,” he replied absently, realising his error as his infuriated ship delivered the equivalent of a mental slap. 

Twice. 

“I mean—”

“Oh my God—”

“Rose.” Straightaway, the Doctor cursed his carelessness as he twisted her beneath him. “Rose, it’s okay,” he maintained, bringing her hands up to rest upon the pillows. “Forget about that for a second, eh? It’s not important. _Well…_ ” He paused. “Actually it’s very important. Vitally important. Virtually insurmountable in the vast vaults of important-ness if I’m brutally honest, but still—it’s just…” The Time Lord wavered. “I—ah… didn’t do a very good job…” 

And if that wasn’t the biggest understatement since, _for a human._

Rose frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“The Vortex,” he said, swallowing hard as his body thrummed with anxious energy. “It’s still…” 

“…inside my head?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” The Doctor hesitated. “How much do you remember?” 

“I _don’t,_ ” she replied softly. “I mean… I do, but I…” Rose’s eyes darkened as he instigated the memory. “ _Oh_ ,” she whispered, reaching up to cradle his jaw. “You kissed me.” 

“Yes.” 

“You kissed me and there was a song—the same song—the one I heard on the Game Station. I felt dizzy and then… nothing.” 

“Nothing?” 

“Not really. Things are coming back, but it’s still so blurry… Did I faint?” 

“You were unconscious,” he told her, caught between relief and disappointment. “Five and a half hours and I couldn’t reach you—couldn’t help you. You were dying, Rose, and the TARDIS she… she brought you back—kept you safe.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“She changed you,” he explained, stroking her cheek as he bared the remains of his soul. “You’re still human— _Well_ …mostly human—quasi-human perhaps—but your cells have mutated, and the TARDIS—Bad Wolf—same thing really, she’s a part of you now. One mind. One body. No separation.” The Time Lord flinched. “Fixed points are one thing, but you, my miraculous girl are something else entirely. This goes far beyond the physical,” he said, receiving a firm confirmation from the ship herself. “We’re talking manipulation on an unprecedented scale… beyond anything I’ve ever…”

Trailing off. the Doctor shook his head. “Whatever she did—however she did it, she obviously had a purpose—aside from scaring me witless, of course,” he added, sparing a glance towards the celestial view upon the ceiling. “Believe me, Rose. I’ve learned my lesson—Hell hath no fury like a Time machine scorned. Still, remind me to check her neural-interface, will you? I think the Old Girl’s developed a vindictive streak.” 

The TARDIS’ song pitched in warning. 

“Talk about touchy.” 

“God, you’re hopeless.” 

“Oi!” 

“Seriously!” Rose said, patting a coral strut in sympathy. “Don’t you know _anything_ about women?” 

“Of course I do,” the Doctor replied, sniffing haughtily as he made himself comfortable between her thighs. “Genius, remember? And I’ll have you know, Rose Tyler, I know a little something, something about you, too.” 

His companion snickered. “I’m all ears.” 

“No.” He flashed a wicked grin. “That’ll be the last me.” 

“Oi!” 

“What?” 

“Tell me!” she demanded, holding his gaze. “You said I was different.” 

“You _are_ different,” he insisted, stretching for the screwdriver on the bedside table. “You’re strong as an ox. Fresh as a daisy—well, fresh as a Rose. Not that you weren’t before, mind. Surprisingly clean lot, you humans—”

“Doctor?” 

“Yes?” 

“You’re babbling.” 

“Right.” Inhaling sharply, the Time Lord rifled through the settings as he gathered his thoughts. “My point, Rose—and I promise there is a point. A brilliant point. A perfectly precise and particularly poignant—”

“ _Doctor!_ ” 

“You’re mine,” he burst out, the hope in his eyes conveying a better story than his words ever could. “Do you see that?” he asked, taking one last scan with the sonic. “Perfect health. Perfect immunity. Top notch. No! Better than that!” he declared. “Top banana! Your cellular degeneration is all but obsolete. No more disease. No more decay. You’re an impossible creature, Rose Tyler. Wave goodbye to withering—sayonara to shrivelling. Despedida to—” 

“… _dying_?” 

The Doctor’s hearts plummeted as his bond-mate fought back tears. “Oh, no. _Nonononono._ Rose, I didn’t—I wasn’t… I—” 

“Don't!” she warned, shooting him a look of pure determination. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry—” 

“I won’t!” he replied hastily. “I’m not. It’s just…” 

“What?” 

“… _complicated._ ” 

The blonde scoffed. “Isn’t it always?” 

“ _Rose_ …”

“ _Doctor_ …” she mimicked, both arms sliding fluidly around his neck. “Look, I’m not stupid, yeah? I know we’ve got a lot to talk about, but please, can’t we just be grateful? Just for tonight? I’m here. You’re here. We’re together. Isn’t that enough?” 

“Oh, it’s enough,” the Time Lord whispered, his fingertips trailing gently along her temple. “It’s more than enough,” he vouched, trembling as he let loose his deepest confession. “I’ve always wanted your forever, Rose, but as much as I need you by my side, I never wished to burden you with this curse.” 

A sultry smirk curled his companion’s lips. “You think this is a curse?” 

_Rassilon, he was a goner._

“’Cause in case you hadn’t noticed, this works both ways, Doctor. And if it means I get to stay—if it means you’ll never be alone…”

“Rose—” 

“I love you,” she said, simply, and bridging the gap between them the Time Lord returned her troth with a kiss borne of the promise of tomorrow. 

He knew this wouldn’t be easy—he knew that there’d be shadows before the dawn—but with the tempest of despair behind them the Doctor swore that now, _forever,_ the future would belong to them. 

The Bad Wolf and the Oncoming Storm. 

The Lord of Time and his Golden Goddess. 

Better than any fairytale. 

Truly, the stuff of legend. 

**Author's Note:**

> What? You didn't think I'd continue this series without everyone's favourite Space Horndog, did you?


End file.
